


After The Veil Aside- War Braids

by elcasaurus



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cute, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hair Braiding, Horses, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elcasaurus/pseuds/elcasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larry decides to braid Elly's hair, and tells a story about his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The Veil Aside- War Braids

Elly gave a sigh of contentment as she leaned her back against Larry's shoulder. For once, it was a quiet evening, and for once, neither of them had anything pressing to do. At the moment he was deeply absorbed in a thick little paperback, and only acknowledged her by shifting to rest his arm around her, pulling her close. She closed her eyes, letting the heat of his body sooth her sore muscles, and let a small smile play over her lips as his fingertips reached up to smooth through her hair. He shifted once again on the couch, somehow pulling her against his chest and cradling her between his legs, never breaking his gaze from the book he was so interested in. One arm draped over her shoulder to hold his book, and the other hand slowly drifted back up to her hair, again slowly stroking his fingertips, slowly smoothing along her scalp. She gave a small growling purr as she peacefully dozed off. 

Eventually a gentle tugging on her hair woke her. She cracked one eye and tried to squirm around to look at him. He had a mischievous smile at the very corner of his lips, and had one hand firmly holding a part of her hair. With the other he turned her back around, then returned to working her hair.

“Don't move. I'm almost done.”

She gave an impatient sounding sigh and relaxed again. “What are you doing, hm?”

“War braids,” he stated, as though in explanation, as though she should understand the meaning. Still, his fingers smoothing and manipulating her hair felt lovely. Whatever he was doing was rather complicated. After another long stretch of his careful manipulations, she risked his ire to turn around in his arms again.

“What are war braids, and what are you doing to my hair?”

He laughed and turned her back around. “I swear if you make me mess this up,” he teased. She settled again as he finished the last few braids. He held a piece at the crown of her head as he removed the leather stay from his own hair to secure it. “They're just what they sound like. Warriors would braid up their hair to keep it out of their faces and off their necks in battle.” He brushed his fingertips softly down the back of her neck, then bent to kiss the hollow of her throat. She gave a soft, encouraging sigh, and he wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her against him. “This is a ceremonial braid,” he swished the pony tail at the crown of her head. “If it was a real war braid I'd wrap the whole thing in a tight bun, and then wrap that in leather. That way an enemy doesn't have a convenient tail of hair to grab onto.” He demonstrated by tugging on her locks. 

This time she turned all the way around to straddle his lap, and reached over him purposefully to dig around in her purse. She ignored his muffled laughter as she snagged what she was looking for, a makeup compact with a mirror. She snapped it open with a practiced hand and pursed her lips as she studied her reflection. He'd carefully braided her hair into rolls and triangles that swirled around her skull in an intricate pattern. She reached up to touch it, poking it gently. It didn't feel tight or pinch, but it wasn't coming loose any time soon either. She raised an eyebrow at him, then reached up to brush her hand through his own long, loose hair. She rarely saw it down, and it pooled over his shoulders in loose strands, reminding her oddly of moonlight. 

“You don't have to look so proud of yourself,” she said as she bent to kiss his forehead.

“Hey, those were hard to learn. I was an acolyte, not a warrior. No one taught me. I had to figure it out on my own.” He grinned up at her, and rested his hands on her hips, lightly tracing the curve of the bone through her tank top. “I remember the first time I wore them, too.”

“Now how did you braid up your own hair like this,” she murmured, as she settled back. She could tell when he was about to give a story.

“Carefully, and without a mirror either. This was all when I'd first met Morgan, and we hadn't met you yet. The only mirrors that existed were calm ponds and polished blades.”

“Thousands and thousands of years ago.”

“Oh yeah, this was a while back. I'd been with Morgan for a few years. I wasn't a fighter yet, you know? Where I came from, we were all.. well we were starved. Frail, weak. I weighed maybe half of what I do now. No muscle.” He stretched under her, as though enjoying the strength he had now.

“I can't imagine it. Scrawny little Larry, weighs ninety pounds soaking wet.” She smoothed her hand over the flat plane of his chest, trying to envision him as skin and bones.

He snorted, then gave a nostalgic sort of grin, idly flexing his arm, then stretching it all the way out, extending his fingers, rotating his wrist. “On the other side of the veil the physical form isn't as necessary, so it's neglected. Morgan had to teach me how to eat. How to drink. How to move. I was very fragile when I first came here. And I wasn't a warrior.” 

“What does that matter? You're one now aren't you.” 

“I'll never technically be a warrior,” he said gently, with a hint of pain. “The Mother breeds us based on need. My genetic makeup is for an acolyte. All I could have ever been if I'd stayed behind was a scholar, copying tombs of useless texts for all of eternity. Warriors are bred differently, made up differently.” He shrugged, “But Morgan, at the time, didn't need a scholar. He was a mercenary, and he needed fighters. So I told him, I want to fight.” 

A broad grin broke over his face suddenly, at the memory. “You should have heard him laugh. It took him way too long to realize I was serious. I thought he was going to pull a muscle. After he finally caught his breath and saw me still standing there, he figured I must have meant it. He told me, 'put on some weight and learn to use a sword, and I'll think about it.' So I did. I ate everything in sight. I practiced with a bronze sword for hours, all day, every day. It took me a year. And then I went back to him and said, I want to fight.

He must have figured by then that I was pretty stubborn,” he paused, grinning, to sheepishly rub the back of his head. Elly giggled softly with him and replied, “You? No. I don't see it.” He shrugged, and continued.

“Anyway, he was still stalling. I don't know why he didn't just let me get into the fray and get it over with. I think he actually cared, even then, whether I lived or not. He told me, 'you can't fight without a horse.' and he gave me this shitty, scrappy, angry little polka dot stallion that no one else wanted. He said, 'Train this horse and I'll let you fight.'

So, I did. I named him Junta, and he wasn't so bad. He just didn't like people was all. That was fine for me, I'm not human anyway. I worked with that horse as much as I worked with the blade, for another year. I had to teach him to let me ride him, which took some convincing. Then I had to teach him not to attack other people and horses without my say so, which was a lot harder. At the end of it, Junta was a fine warhorse. He was as dangerous as any of Morgans men. I showed him what my little Junta could do, and he gave me this long sigh, and said fine, I could fight. But just as I was leaving, as I was walking past, he grabbed me by my hair and threw me to the ground.  
There I was, in the mud, staring up at Morgan in all his warlord glory, thinking he'd suddenly decided to kill me himself instead of letting me go off into a fight, and he says, 'Do something about that hair, or it will get you killed.' Then he just sort of walked off.” 

“Morgan kinda sounds like he was a dick back then,” grinned Elly, which brought a deep laugh from Larry.

“Yeah, he was a little grumpy,” he said as he leaned back into the softness of the couch, crossing his arms behind his head. “He hadn't really worked through stuff yet, you know? His village had just been destroyed by these bandits, and anyway long story short that's why he was a mercenary at the time. But that's a whole other tale. I'll tell you later. I'm almost to the braids part.” 

Elly laughed and rested her arms on his chest, tilting her head lightly, “Oh, sorry. I don't mean to distract you.” He gave a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, don't stop now,” she chided, “Finish the story.” He finished rolling his eyes and gave her a quick wink. 

“Well I was a nervous wreck the night before the battle, so instead of just tying up my hair like a lot of the other men did, I decided to go all out on war braids.” He brushed his own hair back as if in memory. “It took forever. I'd never done it before, or seen it done. I only knew how it was supposed to look, and all I had was the reflection in my sword to go by. It took me four or five tries and all night to figure it out. It felt like sacrilege, back home I would have been deeply punished if I were ever caught trying to wear war braids. It felt like freedom, because there was no one to stop me from doing it.

Anyway, I rode up on Junta to present myself with the rest of the men, ready to ride out to battle. I'd never been so scared in my life!” He sat up a bit against the couch to paint the scene better. “There I was, wearing braids I was forbidden to wear, with an old hand me down sword, and a scruffy little horse, sitting there as though I belonged amongst all those battle hardened men, who's entire lives had been war, who were hand picked by the great warrior Morgan. I was starting to think I'd been a bit nervy in thinking I belonged there. I didn't back down though. I straightened by back and shoulders and pretended for all that I was worth that I was worthy of being there. Then, Morgan marched through our ranks for inspection. He looked up at me, and...” he trailed off, a distant look softened his brilliant green eyes.

“And?” nudged Elly.

“He had this look on his face that I'd never seen, because no one had ever looked at me that way. Ever. Not in all my childhood, not in all my years as an acolyte. He was proud.” He bit his lip lightly and grinned a little, shaking his head. “He was beaming. He gave me this giant toothy grin and he said, 'Boy, you'd better live through this.' And that was that. We rode off into battle, my first real fight.” 

Elly realized she'd been holding her breath, which she let out in a soft giggle. “Well I'm glad you survived.” 

“Me too! Thank Junta. He was a mean sombitch of a horse. Saved my life more times than I can count, too. It was amazing what you could teach him.”

“Thank Junta then,” she grinned as she leaned in, parting his lips with a long, slow kiss.

“Mm, thank Junta. I wouldn't want to miss any of this.”


End file.
